Assault
by LexLuthor13
Summary: Batman's been kidnapped. But when Superman strikes a deal with Brainiac to cross into the antimatter universe and retrieve Batman, to the protest of the Crime Syndicate, the Man of Steel may get even more than he bargained for.
1. The Search

**Author's Note**: here we go again, with me doing a sharp derivation (you might say) from the _Infinite Crisis_ timeline that DC's given us so far, drawing on (yet again) evewnts from ym previous stories (_Dreamers and Demons_, _Restitution_, and most recently, _Intelligence_). In the wake of the League's fight with the Society at Goodwin Airport, Wonder Woman killed Dr. Light, Dr. Psycho killed Zatanna, Max Lord was in the custody of Superman at the Watchtower, and Batman was a prisoner of Brainiac and the Lex Luthor of the anti-matter Earth--where the Crime Syndicate rules with an iron fist. Now, Superman's out to retrieve Batman, while the core members of the Society wish to get their Luthor back--and kill the anti-matter impostor in the process.

* * *

Superman and Robin teleported into the Watchtower's Observation Deck and met the remainder of the League—the ones who answered the Martian Manhunter's priority call quickest—on the Observation Deck on the seventh level. The one with the high ceilings and the cathedral windows made of reinforced Plexiglas. Further protection was offered from shield generators embedded in the Moon's soil several yards below the Observation Deck. The shields were strong enough to deflect any coming bombardment—within reason. 

Mere days ago, the core 7 members of the Justice League had met in this very deck to discuss Superboy's actions against the Teen Titans when he was under control of Lex Luthor. Now, they've returned to discuss Luthor's newest gambit—an all-out assault on the heroes at Archie Goodwin International Airport. When the dust settled, Dr. Psycho had killed Zatanna, Catman and Deadshot were incarcerated—as were Scandal and Cheshire. Dr. Light was dead—his neck snapped by Wonder Woman.

Superman stands on the highest platform at the far end of the Observation Deck, his cape draped around his shoulders, his posture slouched forward.

"You understand what you have to do?"

"Yes."

"Really? Because I don't think you do."

The Man of Steel stares at the stars thoughtfully for a minute before responding. He inhales sharply and turns away from the window. Back to the assembly of Leaguers before him. Closest is Aquaman standing rigidly on the next level down. Hal Jordan and The Flash stand at the back of the room, both of them displaying their uneasiness in different ways—Jordan leans against the wall, staring the floor and following the angled lines across the steel. The Flash paces nervously, his arms crossed over the lightning-bolt symbol on his chest. The Martian Manhunter sits in a chair in a corner of the room, across from Jordan and the Flash. Robin flanks him. It was Aquaman who asked Superman the question.

"I understand what she **did**, Arthur. I will find her."

"Oh I don't doubt that, Clark. But this is different," Aquaman says. He begins pacing. "Schott, Morgan Edge…hell, even Luthor. Those are people who have a **history** of this kind of thing. You can take them downtown in cuffs with relative ease."

"What's your point?" Superman asks sardonically.

"My point is that you can't just land on Themyscira and expect Diana to turn herself over. Nor can you go **hunting** for her."

"Arthur is right," the Martian interjects. "Diana has certain…rights."

Aquaman glances at the Martian for a moment and then turns back to Superman.

"You know what I'm talking about," Aquaman says; his eyes narrow and his voice cryptic. "Diplomatic immunity."

"You weren't there," Superman says. He cocks his head half a degree toward Aquaman. "She killed him. In cold blood, Arthur. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Don't question **me**, you incompetent—"

"Quiet," the Martian interjects. "Superman, we are aware that Diana broke the law. All Arthur is saying—"

"I'm saying you've got to do what has to be done—but within the limits of the **law**. We're here to serve and protect—not dominate."

"I will."

Hal Jordan, from the back of the room, raises an arm and speaks up.

"I think we should go in teams and look for her. Might be safer. Plus, we'll have a witness."

"Fine," Superman says dismissively. "J'onn, call Firestorm. He and Hal can look for Diana."

"What are you going to do?" The Martian asks.

Superman's eyes track across a few feet to see Robin. The Boy Wonder is staring with great interest at the floor.

"I'm going after Batman."

"How do you know where he is?" Robin asks.

"I've got a few ideas," Superman replies, and smiles.

* * *

_Blackgate Penitentiary. Maximum Security Wing._

"Lawton's here, Warden."

"Outstanding, Hatcher, send him in."

Bound at the ankles and wrists by cold metal—not to mention chafing—shackles, Floyd Lawton stumbles into the warden's office. Behind him, the fat guard—Hatcher--pokes his nightstick into Lawton's rib. Each jab gets a grunt from Lawton, until the assassin manages to turn around and enunciate a very forceful profanity at the guard. Hatcher smiles and jams the nightstick in Lawton's kidney. Lawton sinks into the chair and stares hatefully at Hatcher. The guard ignores it and turns to leave. The warden watches him go, and goes back to the manila folder on his desk, its contents spread in a messy arc.

"A repeat offender, eh, Floyd?" the warden says, not looking up from his paperwork.

"Well, you know how it is, warden. It's late at night and someone passes you a pack of smokes; what would you do?"

"I'd know when to quit," the warden replies idly. "And this isn't about smoking. Last I checked, it was still legal to light up."

"Fair enough," Lawton says. "So what **am** I here for?"

The warden stops writing, looks up at Lawton and clasps his hands together on the desktop. "Are you joking?"

Lawton smiles.

"You were arrested by Green Arrow for aggravated assault and attempted manslaughter."

"When you're right, you're right." Lawton inspects his fingernails. "But as I recall, the last time you tried to put me away, I had my own get-out-of-jail-free card. Remember? Or do I need to give Spencer a ring?"

"The 'give-back' program's been abolished, Floyd," the warden says. He follows it with a quieter, more wicked: "For you, anyway. And consider this your holding cell."

"Was downtown full?"

"The small-times. Armed robbery, rape, carjackers. You know how it is."

Lawton sighs and stares out the window. The seas were getting choppy with the afternoon wind rolling in from the Atlantic. Signs of a storm on its way.

Lawton smiles. A storm. Right.

The warden's voice brings Floyd back to the present. "That's…quite an injury to your arm there." The warden points to a scab along Floyd's forearm. "What happened?"

"I tried to block a shot from Green Arrow," Lawton says idly. "Not a good idea, in case you were thinking of trying it." The warden shakes his head in dismissal.

"Your mother would be proud, Floyd."

Lawton's eyes narrow and he clenches his teeth. "Shut up."

"Officer Hatcher tells me you have some useful information for me?"

"Yep," Lawton says. He slides down into the surprisingly comfortably chair, risking a slouch. "That I do, and I think this is a beat you can swing to. It's about **you**, wouldn't you know."

The warden reclines in his chair, brings his arm up to his chin and starts gnawing intermittently on the pen tip. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Lawton says confidently. "See, the reason you fellas always win? There's no balance. No cops on our side, right. No prison to toss your people who wrong my people in—and that happens in abundance." Lawton holds his hands in the air—as much as the shackles allow—innocently. "You got the cops, the prisons, the politicians. It's a one-sided game, all right. Can't say I blame you guys though. Most people on your side of the fence aren't joiners and that's their stick."

The warden seems unamused. Lawton's eyebrow arches and he continues. "But how it is now…is some of the alpha males of our pack here, they're out to reshape everything. **Society**, bucko. That's what this is about—that's what they call themselves. But I wouldn't tell anyone about this, killer. Not if I were you."

Lawton notes that the warden seems really interested now. He leans forward in his chair and starts tapping his fingers on the table nervously.

"But that's just today, warden." Lawton's voice changes to a feigned tone of reassurance. "Some day—very soon—my friends are gonna ask you to open those gates, killer."

"Please…" the warden's voice echoes. Lawton stands and looks at the clock on the wall behind the warden's desk.

"Some friends'll be by to pick me up in an hour, warden. A new society, tough-guy. And when I tell you…you'd better damn well open those gates."

* * *

_Brainiac's Skull Ship. 20,000 miles above the surface of the Earth._

"Batman? Are you still in there?"

A grizzled and barely discernable sound reaches Alexander Luthor's ears. It sounds like a yes. "Good to know," Luthor answers. "How do you feel?"

"Cold." Batman's voice is terse and forceful—angry, by his personal standards.

"Even through that suit of yours. Remarkable." Luthor taps his chin thoughtfully. "Can I get you anything?"

"Answers."

Luthor smiles. "You want to know why you're here."

"No," Batman replies. "I want to know why **you're** here. You don't belong here."

"Quite so," Luthor answers. He starts pacing, his armor clanking in its joints. "What I needed, the Syndicate couldn't provide. Or rather, they provided by dumb luck."

"And that was?"

"A way out," Luthor says, staring at the metal latticework of the ceiling above him. "You have no idea how many times I tried to save that world—the antimatter Earth—from those vultures. Ultraman was the worst, you know."

"So you escaped," Batman say expectantly.

Luthor snickers. "They underestimated me. It's a common mistake. When the Syndicate came to your universe some months ago, I found my way out of that deplorable limbo, crafted a suitable means of conveyance and followed their tachyon trail. It led me here—to the most prevailing power source my sensors detected."

"Brainiac."

"Yes. Little did I know what he had in mind, or who his latest ally was. This universe's Lex Luthor. And my oh my…what plans they had."

"And then you came along."

Luthor cracks a smile and nods. "Brainiac turned on **your** Luthor with surprising quickness. It seems even automatons have their price."

"You controlled Superboy," Batman says hatefully. "Sent him against the Titans."

"No," Luthor replies calmly. "That was yours. Where he failed, I picked up the slack and began implementing my plan."

"Which is?"

"As I said before my friend," Luthor says intently. "After countless failed attempts to save my world, I deduced that since the rules of matter and antimatter engagement had been revoked, I could try my hand on this Earth. So far, it's working surprisingly well."

"Then why don't you just steamroll the planet with Brainiac's help and go back? Why stay?"

"I intend to," Luthor says idly. "But I needed someone to come back with me. Someone of a mind as cunning as my own—someone who could **help** me rid my world of the Syndicate and everything they stand for. Someone who knows how they operate, and what lengths they'll go to…for preserving an ideal."

Batman's eyes narrow and he comes to a realization.

"I need **you**, Mister Wayne."

* * *

**Author's Note**: The scene with Floyd in Blackgate is borrowed, elementally at least, from _Villains United_ #4, where Jack of the Royal Flush Gang hints at a massive jailbreak to be orchestrated by the Society.

* * *

_**Continued... **_


	2. The One You Least Suspect

_Author's Note: _A note on the narrative shifts below. It goes from the Skull Ship, to the Watchtower on the Moon, and then shifts for a few moments to the anti-matter Universe with Ultraman and Owlman. We complete this chapter by returning to Society HQ in Gotham City and finally on the Skull Ship. Why do I bring these things up? Clarity, constant readers; for your benefit. Cheers._

* * *

Previously:_

_"I needed someone to come back with me. Someone of a mind as cunning as my own—someone who could **help** me rid my world of the Syndicate and everything they stand for. Someone who knows how they operate, and what lengths they'll go to…for preserving an ideal."_

_Batman's eyes narrow and he comes to a realization._

"_I need **you**, Mister Wayne."

* * *

_

Now:

"What would be a better way for humans to take control of their own destiny?"

"You would kill the metas just to make yourself comfortable?"

"Again, you misunderstand. What I'm trying to do here is really quite elementary. I'm going to save both worlds—yours and mine—and then…"

"And then what?"

"We can live our lives as we ought to."

"You're lying to yourself again."

Alexander Luthor scowls and turns to Batman. The Dark Knight, as he was called on this Earth, is restrained—held relatively motionless by shackles anchored in the floor plates. He won't be going anywhere.

"Only a cynical person would call what you have a life, Mister Wayne. Crime, despair, misery. Mankind was not meant to live like this—in yours or any other universe."

"You're wrong. There are things **worth** living for on this planet."

Luthor's eyes narrow. He approaches Batman, and crouches next to him.

"Such as?" Luthor's voice is a whisper. "Surely you don't mean family." Silence. Luthor smiles at Batman's inability to answer and continues. "Surely a comment of that nature, coming from you of all people, is something of a non sequitur. After all, is not Bruce Wayne a loner?"

"You don't know anything about me." Batman grits his teeth.

"But I know what drives you—what makes you dress up every night and try to take on the world when the odds are impossibly stacked against you. I encountered it when I first met **Owlman**, though his brand of justice was…infinitely more brutal than yours or mine would ever be."

"So?" Batman asks pointedly. His eyes narrow. Luthor makes a note of Batman's increasing irritability, and files it away at the back of his mind.

"You want to save the world, yet you use a light touch. You must realize the folly therein. Sometimes, Mister Wayne, you have to get your hands dirty."

"I won't kill, if that's what you're asking."

Luthor throttles Batman and speaks; his voice is guttural. "I'm not asking you. I'm **telling** you. Sooner rather than later, some nut will come for you. Or your family. And when that day comes, you must choose."

Luthor releases Batman from his grip and stands.

"Regardless of your personal leanings, Mister Wayne, this is one battle you cannot hope to sway to your favor."

Batman stares intently at Luthor. His mind is already cataloguing the minutiae of Luthor's movements; how the man carries himself…how extravagantly self-assured he is. A Luthor by any other name…

"Why are you keeping me here?" Batman's voice is weary.

"You're a rallying point, Mister Wayne. Your friends will come looking for you, but I fear that by the time they get here…they'll be left wanting."

* * *

_Justice League Headquarters. The Moon._

_Hal Jordan and Firestorm._

"Are they here yet?"

"Not yet, Jason. Donna said it would take awhile."

"Yeah," Firestorm says quietly. "And Kara? Is she coming?"

"Donna said she'd bring her along."

"Cool."

"Keep in mind," Jordan says, taking on a fatherly tone. "We're doing this in teams."

"I understand. You and Donna—"

"We'll take the Western Hemisphere. You think you and Kara can manage the East?"

"Oh yeah," Firestorm replies, waving a dismissive hand. "We'll take care of it."

"And remember…if you spot Diana, call me immediately. Wait for further action, and if she tries to run, trail her. Try to keep this as **peaceful **as you can."

"Understood."

Yeah, Firestorm admits to himself. Right.

* * *

_The Anti-matter universe. The Panopticon._

_Ultraman and Owlman._

"So he's on his way back?"

"Are you new?** Pay attention**."

"This is new. Unexpected. Even for him."

"You're implying something, Ultraman?"

"I'm implying that we be **ready** when he comes back, you pompous bastard."

* * *

_Gotham City. Headquarters of the Society._

_Black Adam, Dr. Psycho, and Talia Head._

"I'll give the Amazon this," Dr. Psycho says intently. "It's always the one you least suspect."

"Perhaps," Black Adam intoned. "She is a wanted woman. A murderer. In my homeland, there is no crime more unforgivable."

"Then I remind you that we're not in Khandaq, Adam. We're in America."

Dr. Psycho raises his hand. "Point of order. I don't know about the rest of you, but I distinctly remember signing up for this home away from home as a supervillain—not a Rotarian. Since when do we play by the rules?"

"When it behooves us to, Psycho." Talia Head says idly. Her eyes track across the ceiling in boredom. "We have two options. One, hunt down the Amazon and bring her to justice—**our** kind of justice."

"Or?" Psycho asks, playing the innocent angle.

"Find Luthor."

"The two are not mutually exclusive," Black Adam interrupts. "We can search for Luthor and the Amazon simultaneously. All we need is a sizable strike force."

A small LED projector in the center of the table beeps and comes to life. Talia presses a button on the control panel in front of her, and a green-colored hologram materializes in the middle of the desk. A three-dimensional rendering of Noah Kuttler, the Calculator.

"Hate to interrupt, lady and gentlemen. But I ask that you reconsider your plans."

Talia's eyes narrow. "Is that so, Noah?"

"Yes," he says without missing a beat. "Consider, for a moment, that the **League** is looking for the Amazon as well. Do you really want to cross paths with them twice in one week?"

Black Adam turns to Talia. "He is right. We cannot risk another confrontation."

"Fine," she says curtly. "Let the League search for the Amazon—let them deal with their internal strife. Meanwhile, let's work on bringing Lex back."

Dr. Psycho raises his hand again. "And how do you want to do this? One of Adam's eponymous strike forces against the Skull Ship? Or how about we just blow it up for good measure?"

"We can't blow it up," Kuttler says frankly. "Let's be realistic. What we need is a diversion. Something that allows us access to Luthor without worrying about the League following us."

"How about the Watchtower?" Dr. Psycho asks, drumming his fingers idly on the table. "Superman might just be dumb enough to think Brainiac was the one who destroyed the Watchtower. And focus his energies therein—as it were."

One of Black Adam's eyebrows arches in consideration, and he regards Talia for a moment. She looks at Black Adam, at Dr. Psycho, and centers on Kuttler's image in front of her.

"Do it," Talia says curtly.

* * *

_Brainiac's Skull Ship._

_Alexander Luthor, of the Anti-matter Universe._

"What do you want to do with me?"

"I need you for a special operation. Brainiac wants you to return to your Earth. But I think we both know what would happen in that event."

"The status quo would remain unchanged."

Alexander Luthor nods silently. The green and purple shell of his armor faintly follows the sculpt of his body. He wears a smug grin, partly stemming from a victory over the Luthor of the positive-matter universe. And partly because of pure genetics. Everything that exists has a certain nature. These things exist as something in particular and have characteristics that make them part of what they are. A is A. And Luthor, no matter what universe he is from, is Luthor just the same.

Cold. Calculating. Always mindful of his surroundings. Always considering ways to turn any situation to his favor.

"Yes," Alexander Luthor replies. "So you're going to come **with** me. Regardless of your personal feelings on the issue."

"Alexander."

Brainiac's flat voice carries itself into Alexander Luthor's earpiece. Luthor taps an armored hand to his ear and responds.

"What?" His voice is heavy and disdainful.

"Are you prepared?"

"Oh yes. I would prefer to pass through the dimensional barrier before the hour is out."

"Good," the automaton replies.

"Is Batman aboard my ship?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I'll be there shortly."

* * *

_**Continued... **_


	3. Reversing Over

_Author's Note: _A little longer chapter than expeced, as I sometimes do, but hopefully it won't ruin your reading experience. Cheers.

* * *

_Brainiac's Skull Ship._

_22,000 miles above the surface of the Earth._

"They are all **against** you, Bruce. What place do you have amongst men with power rings and **murderers** with golden lassos? Surely you, a mere human, are greater than any of them. You were there to keep them honest, but they turned on you. Robbed you of your one precious asset—your **mind**. You don't belong there. You're better than any of them ever were."

"You can try the psychology elsewhere, Luthor. I'm immune."

Alexander Luthor grins. "Of course, you would be. So I pose you this question, Mr. Wayne. Why did you stay on the League? Personal vindication perhaps—proving something to yourself?"

"Like you said," Batman retorts through clenched teeth. "I was there to keep them honest."

"But it didn't work…did it? Despite your presence—a human keeping stride among gods—they still took the law into their own hands. Single-handedly decided what to do with Dr. Light and sealed their fates forever. And they took advantage of you."

Batman's head bows wearily. Maybe…Luthor did have a point. Somewhere. Batman brings his head back up to stare into Alexander Luthor's piercing green eyes. Staring right back at the Dark Knight, with a gleam glazed across the surface. Confident. Assuring, if misleading.

"Come **with** me, Mister Wayne."

"What happened to strong-arming me into your service?"

"I've had one of my trademark changes of heart," Luthor replies with a smirk. "Help me defeat the Syndicate once and for all. Haven't you ever wanted to be part of something special? To participate in a system where your talents would be appreciated—welcomed?"

Batman's eyes narrow and his voice drops to a reserved grimness. "I **was** part of something special."

"Ah yes," Luthor replies. He begins pacing. "The World's Greatest Superheroes. Indeed. So many skeletons in so many closets, Mister Wayne. Wally West knew of his predecessor wiping the mind of the Top. Oliver Queen and Carter Hall couldn't get past their respective personal politics to save their hides. And Superman…the worst of them. He knew of Zatanna's crimes, and he did nothing."

"What are you babbling about?" Batman patronizes. "Why do you care about the League?"

"They represent, in this universe, the elements of the Syndicate. If they are not dealt with it will be civil war. Without end."

"How so?" Batman asks narrowly.

"Let your League continue their barbaric practices," Luthor says sharply, "and they will establish total dominion over your Earth. They will become **dictators** and you won't be able to stop it. But since you seem unwilling to stop them, you'll be **forced** into helping **me**."

Luthor grimaces and raises a leg. A second later, an armored leg slams into Batman's chin. The Dark Knight falls to the ground with a thud and wipes the blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. Luthor inhales slowly and releases it. When he speaks again his voice is suddenly calm—almost regretful.

"I was once like your Luthor. Idealistic, **full** of energy and ready to exert it over the sphere of my influence. In every world and every time, Mister Wayne, there is a point of divergence from the status quo. Said point in my world came when the Syndicate—after years of clandestine planning and clemency under the government of the time—made their move. They swept into the capital, murdered the Congress and set themselves up as 'interim governors.' Twenty years later, the public's grown accustomed to their iron fist.

"Except for the occasional strike," Batman intimates.

"Whatever I threw at them, they threw right back." Luthor quiets himself and stares at the floor. The already-dim light in the Skull Ships main chamber surrounded Alexander Luthor in shadows that followed the outline of his armor. For all the strength he showed, Batman notes, Luthor looks unusually morose. The look on his face…the look of a man who's seen his dream crushed more times than he cares to know.

"And so I spent my life in pursuit of a means by which I might ultimately destroy the Syndicate. Each time I was met by failure. And I spent **years** avenging myself…to no end."

Silence.

Luthor closes his eyes and raises a hand to his temple, massaging what the Dark Knight posits is a headache.

"Then what happened?"

Luthor's eyes open and he turns to Batman with a quizzical look across his face. Three seconds later, Luthor's eyes narrow dubiously.

"Nice try," Luthor says grimly. He straightens his posture. "Within the hour, I shall be returning to my universe, and you will be accompanying me."

"What about this Earth's Luthor?"

Luthor smiles. "Funny you should ask, Mister Wayne. He's coming with us. Think of him as a sort of…**collateral**."

* * *

_New York City._

_Alan Scott. _

Going to be a few minutes late to the JSA meeting. It's what I get for helping out a young couple with a blowout on the West Side highway. Indeed. As soon as I walk into the meeting, Courtney will probably harangue me about punctuality.

I decide to take it easy on myself for once and fly at street-level. When I get to Times Square, I raise my altitude a bit and flash a wave or three at the crowd. They seem to love it, and I do too. Honestly. In this business, after all, it takes some doing to get bad press.

That's part of the 'superhero' label, I suppose. Take care of yourself, be the role model that no one seems to care about anymore, and the rest falls into place. A little healthy optimism and vigor are what keep me doing this after all these years.

"_Olllllldmaaaaaaannnnnn."_

I stop in mid-air, and my eyes dance across the sky trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. This high up...if that was someone's voice, how did I hear it? I fly away from Times Square, down to an open space in Battery Park with little civilian presence. If this is what I think it is—

"_AlanScottthefirstGreeeeenLantern."_

"Who's there?" I enunciate.

"_Beforrrrrre**Jordan**."_

"What do you want?"

Thunder explodes in my ears and sends me flying. I slam into the ground and hobble to one knee, massaging my neck painfully. My vision clears, and I see the source of the thunder standing a few feet away. Zoom, the Reverse-Flash. A man caught in an explosion that trapped him between timelines.

And he's holding a two-by-four in one arm.

"Zoom," I say expectantly. "How did you get free?"

More thunder in my ears, and I find myself on the ground again. With a headache.

"_YouhavesomethingI**need**AlanScott."_

"I can't imagine what that would be."

He materializes in front of me, holding the two-by-four behind his shoulder like a baseball bat. His posture shifts, and he throws the board at me. And before the blunt end slams into my forehead, I think about the inconvenience of the wood impurity in my ring.

* * *

_Themyscira_. 

The night air feels brisk. Promising. It's been a bit cool on the island these past few weeks As if something—a cold wind from the North—was creeping its way across the ocean to us. But the wind is warm tonight. A wind of change.

Then again, some things don't change.

Everyone dies. In a way, it's the one justice in the world. No matter what happens, you can't escape the hand of fate; it comes for everyone regardless of prowess, power or privilege. Hours ago the hand of fate came for Zatanna, personified in Dr. Psycho—an old enemy of mine. He killed her.

I barely had enough time to get her body out of Gotham before Superman returned from the Watchtower. I wanted to give her a proper burial before the League **judged** me for my actions.

Staring at Zatanna's headstone, I find myself repeating the word 'sorry.' It's just about all I can do. Behind me, a twig cracks on the ground. I cock my head half a degree, and the unmistakable scent of saltwater reaches me.

"She was a good soldier," the voice speaks. "She gave her life for us."

"You don't belong here, Arthur. Go back to San Diego…where you make a difference." I manage.

After a pause, the voice replies. "Everyone is looking for you, Diana."

"I know," I say quietly.

"They're scared. They want to take you in."

I turn away from the headstone and face Arthur. King of the Seas. One of the earthbound roots of the League, he keeps us in check.

"They want to **crucify** me," I say pointedly. "I'm not going back there just to have them tell me I'm **wrong**."

"I'm not taking sides, Diana. I just want you to know…I understand why you did it."

"Light was a monster, Arthur. And he had to be dealt with."

"I understand," Arthur says. His head sinks and his shoulders slump a bit. His orange chain-mail rustles with the movement of his frame. For the first time in a long time, Aquaman looks…vulnerable. "Look…you can either wait it out here and then face a whole new load of problems when they find you. Or you can come with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Come with me," Arthur says, "and I can take some of the heat off."

I give him a dubious look, to which he gives a simple "please" as a reply.

"Alright," I say after a pause.

* * *

"Zoom." 

_"Yesss?"_

"Did you get the ring?"

_"YessssNoah.Itwasnotdifficult."_

"I suspected as much."

_"Whatttdoyouintendtodowithit?"_

"Give it to Adam. He's got the necessary traits to successfully operate it."

* * *

Alexander Luthor approaches the hangar in Brainiac's Skull Ship with a certain amount of quickness. He realizes that despite Krona's tampering with the rules of matter and anti-matter engagement, he has little time left in this universe. If he does not leave soon, the League will discover his presence, and send a team to destroy him. 

Fortunately for Alexander Luthor, though, the League is too preoccupied with their **own** matters. Debating endlessly over whether or not they had the licensing to mindwipe some of their planet's perennial losers to consider threats going on outside their safe and comfortable Watchtower.

Luthor enters the hangar and taps his earpiece communicator.

"Brainiac. Are Batman and my doppelganger aboard my ship?"

"They have just been transported there. They await you in the cargo hold."

"The cargo hold?" Luthor asks quizzically. "You really are inhumane. And here I was thinking of giving them space enough to sleep."

"It would not behoove you **or** them, Alexander."

"Maybe so," Luthor replies idly.

Luthor reaches his ship, landed in the center of the hangar and presses a button on his belt. A hatch on the backside of the craft hisses and slides open, revealing a cargo hold with Batman and the positive-matter Lex Luthor bound and shackled, prone on the floor.

Alexander Luthor steps past his prisoners and speaks into his communicator again.  
"Before I leave, Brainiac, I have some housekeeping details I wish to take care of."

"Such as?"

"I'm giving you the activation codes for the OMACs, which this Earth's Luthor provided after some…prodding. As soon as I have breached the dimensional barrier, run the codes through your computers and set the OMACs to autonomy."

"And what of the Society? They will come looking for their departed leader."

"They can **try**," Luthor responds. His fingers dance across the controls and the ship comes to life. On the other side of the ship's forward viewport, the hangar doors pull apart form each other, revealing the vastness of space. The ship lifts from the steel floor and propels itself into space, the silver orb of the Skull Ship fast becoming a dot in Luthor's rearview monitors.

A small screen on Luthor's control panel lights up. Luthor gives it a scrutinizing eye and sees a yellow sphere approaching the Skull Ship's ventral side.

"Image enhance. Forty percent."

The sphere becomes larger on the screen, and Luthor discerns figures standing inside its borders. Guided by the renegade Green Lantern Sinestro, a veritable army mills inside the sphere; a battalion of so-called villains with Deathstroke, the Amazo android, and Black Adam at its head. Luthor's eyebrow arches in curiosity. Foolish Society.

Ahead of the shuttle, a blue-and-white spiral opens in space. Luthor's eyes light up and he pilots his craft directly for it.

* * *

_**Continued...**  
_


	4. Clemency

_**Author's Note: **This is a reload of the same chapter as before. Whyfore, you ask? Onimar Synn had some missing lines that I wanted to put in, and for some reason they got left out on the first try, plus I had some other things I wanted to exercise my creative hand on. So here it is. Chapter 4, the final iteration, barring an act of God._

_**Author's Note, Inane Addition:** Funny that I got a review while re-tooling the chapter. To answer your question markmark261: as I understand it, there's only one Zatanna (can't say I'm reading Morrison's SSoV, though I probably should be). But as to her resurrection...well, if Jason Todd can come back, then hope may yet spring eternal:).  
_

**Author's Note III: **A romantic Owlman you ask? Blasphemy you say? Well, maybe. The point of the exercise, for me anyway, is to hopefully cast the CSA in such a light that gets you thinking "they weren't always evil." Plus, I figure that if bad things are happening in the positive-matter universe (between Diana killing people, Batman getting more reclusive--though that's hardly news to anyone--Superman being mind-controlled, and villains uniting), there are good things of a nature happening in the CSA's world. If only by default rules of matter and anti-matter engagement...but those were altered by Krona weren't they?

Enjoy.

* * *

_The Panopticon. Headquarters of the Crime Syndicate of Amerika._

Not a cloud in the sky. Good news, all things considered. Especially after the last few months; us leaving our own universe to fight the League and, in turn, watch them derail the weaponers from Qward. It was quite a sight, for all the effort they put into it.

We could have decommissioned the Qwardians much faster than the League. But we didn't…and that's alright. We're not here to be liked, and we're certainly not about to do their jobs for them.

They're the best at what they do. And so am I.

Owlman. Thomas Wayne, Junior. And I wish I was Thomas Wayne—just the name, nothing at the end to link me to a monster among men. A walking anachronism of a bygone age of goodness and democracy—things that don't matter anymore. A time where people were nice to each other. Where things…mattered.

Mother. Bruce.

Not anymore, though, I suppose. Things change. People die.

Even stars burn out.

The moon shines bright in the sky—a round spot of light on the sky, marbled by gray strands of clouds. The second most beautiful thing I knew. Next to her.

Behind the blue lenses of my helmet, my eyes track across my field of vision to Superwoman. She's standing a meter or so away, on one of the platforms on the far side of the Observation Deck, with her hands firmly placed on her hips and an angled stature. Staring at the stars.

"Beautiful night," I say flatly. My voice is neither prideful nor amorous. I'm simply stating a fact. I know beauty when I see it. I see it in her eyes. A beauty of…**opportunity**.

"You can cut the small talk," she says pointedly.

"I'm enjoying the evening. Take from that what you will."

"Right." She's suspicious. Good. Time was, I would simply walk in and claim her for myself, Kent be damned. But things change. "What do you want, Thomas? Another weekend tryst?"

"Later," I reply. "For now, I'd simply like to look at the stars with you at my side. Is that…so much to ask?"

She sighs and uncrosses her arms. "Fine," she says wearily.

And so we stare at the stars. Current placeholders for the most beautiful things in the world. More conquests, yes. But that's for another day.

And a bright flash against the backdrop of the night sky. A shooting star or something like it.

"What the hell is that?" Superwoman says. She lifts off the ground a few inches and readies for a fight. There are two possibilities as to the shooting star. Either it's an asteroid or some likewise cosmic body coming for us.

Or it's Luthor on one of his trademark sojourns across the dimensional barrier.

The bright spot on the sky becomes bigger as it approaches the Panopticon and the open-air Observation Deck on the top level. Optical enhancers in my lenses zero in on the craft, and identify Luthor at the controls. Strange that he's not firing on us. Yet.

Superwoman lowers to the ground. I step in front of her as the craft lands and a boarding ramp slides out and angles on the deck. Hydraulics hiss and the access door slides open. Luthor steps out, dragging a body behind him.

Behind me, I hear a rush of air. It'll be Ultraman and Power Ring—and Johnny Quick invariably.

Luthor stops a few meters ahead of us. When Johnny Quick tires to rush him, Luthor raises an armored hand and a shock net flies out, trapping Quick and pumping him with 10,000 volts. Luthor doesn't even look at Quick, but instead focuses his attention on the rest of us.

"Ultraman."

"Luthor, you worthless piece of—"

"Hold your tongue for a **moment**, Kent, and **pretend** you're interested in what I have to give you."

"And what would that be?"

"Something you may enjoy."

"Such as?"

"Me. At least, another version of me. One far older and…darker. You'd like him."

My eyes roll away from Luthor and that smug self-righteous grin across his face, to the crumpled body at his feet. Bald, shackled, dare I say unconscious or getting there.

The rest of the group does the same: eyeballing Luthor dubiously and staring at the other Luthor with a scientist's scrutiny. "It's the perfect gift," Luthor says calmly. "For the man who has everything."

Enough kid's play. "Luthor," I interject. "What makes you think we want whatever it is you're peddling?"

"What happened to you, Lex?" Johnny Quick chuckles from the back. "You were the honest one."

"I don't expect you to want anything I have, Owlman. But he is yours for the taking, **if** you wish. If not, I can just as easily return him. Or throw him too close to a pulsar. I'm feeling adventurous today."

"So what do we do?" Johnny Quick murmurs. He's just about as clueless as usual, but as taken aback as any of us. Why is Luthor being so…charitable all of the sudden? A peculiar question.

"Think about it," Luthor says slowly, as if he's trying to prove a point.

"No deals," Ultraman says forcefully. He steps close and points a finger in Luthor's face. "What's in it for you?"

"Clemency," Luthor says without missing a beat. He begins pacing. "I think it's only fair that I provide you a service and I should get something in return. You can take the positive-matter Luthor and do whatever you want with him or without him, or on top of him. The point is, I'm out of your hair and you have a new protégé."

Superwoman leans in close to Ultraman and whispers in his ear. Her voice is bleak and hoarse. "Manipulation is in the Luthor genes," she says. "We should kill him."

"She's right," Power Ring echoes. "This is too good to be true."

"No," Ultraman says. He's deep in thought. Like his positive-matter counterpart. The epitome of a personality that sees the world in terms of assets and detriments. "Don't kill him."

"What?" Superwoman seems taken aback at Kent's pronouncement. "Who the hell do you—"

"If we kill Luthor now," Ultraman speaks slowly and intently, as if spelling it out for the rogue Amazon. "We won't learn anything. And so we should keep him alive."

Alexander Luthor smiles. He extends an open arm at his side, offering the positive-matter Luthor to the Syndicate. Ultraman gestures behind him, and Johnny Quick steps forward, taking custody of the shackled Luthor.

"All right Alexander," Ultraman says. "This may be of some use to us."

"I'm sure of it."

Power Ring raises an arm. His ring lights up and extends a sphere of green around Johnny Quick and Superwoman and their positive-matter prisoner. I cast a cross look at Luthor before stepping into the bubble with Superwoman. Power Ring lifts into the sky, with the sphere hovering three feet below him. Alexander Luthor makes a mental note of Power Ring's demeanor. He seems like his mind is…elsewhere. _Curious_.

The sound of Ultraman's over-personified fatherly-tone reaches Alexander Luthor's ears again.

"All right," Ultraman says sternly. "Clemency, Luthor. For now."

"Of course," Alexander replies with a gracious smile. He bows humbly and turns back to his ship.

* * *

_The Positive-matter Universe. Brainiac's Skull Ship. _

A green-colored hologram materializes in front of Brainiac's gaunt steel frame. It is the figure of a man, tall and proud, wearing ornate robes that drape from his shoulders and bunch at his feet. A thin smile creases across his withered and savage face.

Onimar Synn.

"Brainiac," Synn enunciates. His voice, altered by the hologram and voice-capture technology, is a deep rumble.

"What is it?"

"Progress report." The automaton's eye sockets narrow.

"Yes," Synn replies, baring sickly teeth, sharpened and blackened with age. "The female Hawk is dead. I only wish I might take credit for the act."

"Acceptable."

"Acceptable? Do you understand what this means?"

"There is still one more obstacle, Sin Eater."

Onimar Synn's eyes narrow. "Such as?"

"Donna Troy," Brainiac replies curtly. "She is a threat, and must be dealt with."

"How do you intend to affect this?" Synn replies expectantly. "She is powerful."

"She is **fallible**, Sin Eater. As are her Amazon compatriots."

"And I assume you have a plan?"

"I shall activate the Observational Metahuman Activity Constructs and send them to find Donna Troy, and the rest of the Amazons. In the interim, carry on with your particular operation. I will keep you apprised of the situation."

"Agreed," Synn replies. He bows curtly, and the hologram fades away.

* * *

"Noah." 

"Talia. What can I do for you?"

"Have you launched the missiles yet?"

"As soon as I have confirmation from Adam, I press the button. No sooner."

* * *

Brainiac is in the middle of a system-check when the wall behind him shatters. His emerald optics roll in their sockets, and he turns around to see the first of the so-called assault team. Sinestro, with his arm held at waist level. Behind the renegade Green Lantern is a wall of yellow, undoubtedly placed there to prevent a loss of pressure from within the ship. Brainiac presses a button on his chest-frame. A solid panel of gray steel slides down from the ceiling and covers the crude hole Sinestro had so callously blown in the hull. Sinestro glances crossly at the wall behind him, and the yellow light from his ring fades. He lowers to the ground. 

"Sinestro," Brainiac says curtly. "Where are the others?"

Half of Sinestro's mouth curls into a smile. He snaps his fingers—a useless display of power—and the other Society members become visible. Black Adam, hovering three feet from the ground, with a stern look across his face. Deathstroke the Terminator standing next to Adam, and one of the Amazo androids standing next to Deathstroke.

"The others are no doubt tearing my ship apart as we speak," Brainiac says. He clasps his steel hands behind his back and begins pacing. His metal claw feet echo across the floor. "You are here for Luthor yes?"

Black Adam is the first one to speak, and when he does there is no hint of fear in his voice. "Yes, automaton."

"We know you know where he is," Deathstroke interjects. He raises an arm behind his head and levels a shotgun at Brainiac's head. "And you'll tell us."

"Homo sapiens and their guns," Brainiac patronizes quietly. "When will you ever learn that there are more ways around a situation than with puerile brute force?"

Silence. Deathstroke's arm doesn't waver. Black Adam's eyes narrow. Sinestro's ring sparks to life; whatever he is thinking of, he is obviously planning on using it. The Amazo android cracks it knuckles strangely.

"Very well," Brainiac says, after a pause. "Your Luthor is no longer in my possession. He left mere minutes ago."

"Where **is** he?" Deathstroke says grimly. Brainiac's audio receptors filter the sound of a bullet entering the chamber on Deathstroke's shotgun.

"With the Crime Syndicate. In their universe."

Deathstroke turns to Black Adam. "He's lying."

"Possibly," Brainiac replies. He angles his head toward the ceiling. If Brainiac were human, he might just look bored. "Can you take that chance?"

Silence.

"Can you?" Brainiac reiterates, turning away from the Society. His attention shifts to the far side of the room. To a body standing in the threshold to the main chamber. Confident, overpowering. His physical skills may be impressive, but he is humanoid nonetheless. Frail. Breakable.

"Kal-el."

"Brainiac," the Kryptonian says through narrow eyes and clenched teeth. "Tell me where he is."


	5. Taking a Chance

**Author's Note**: The more I think about it, the more I think this is a chance for me to write a Crime Syndicate story with reasonable cause. Wouldn't you know it's a goal of mine. Enjoy:).

* * *

_Brainiac's Skull Ship. _

"Brainiac," the Kryptonian says through narrow eyes and clenched teeth. "Tell me where he is."

"Surely, Kal-el, you do not mean Luthor."

"No," The Man of Steel intones. "I already heard that part. I want to know what you did with Batman. I saw you and Luthor disappear with him at Goodwin. Where **is **he?"

Brainiac's emerald eyes narrow. "I expected you would."

Behind Brainiac, Deathstroke levels his shotgun at Superman. The Man of Steel glances crossly at the Terminator.

"Don't be stupid," Superman says forcefully. "Drop it."

Underneath his mask, Deathstroke grimaces. He holsters the shotgun and stares expectantly at Superman.

"Now, Brainiac. Tell me what I want to know."

"You would deign to know the whereabouts of your Batman?"

Silence. Superman folds his arms over his chest and stares balefully at Brainiac.

"Very well, then," the automaton replies. "Batman has been taken prisoner, along with this universe's Luthor."

"**This** universe's Luthor? What do you mean?"

Brainiac clasps his spindly hands together at what humans would call the waist.

"Recent tampering with the dimensional barriers has allowed easier thoroughfare between worlds. Alexander Luthor of the Crime Syndicate's world crossed the barrier, infiltrated the underworld, and masqueraded as this universe's Luthor. He, naturally, is quite adept at the role. Now, I seek to retrieve this universe's Luthor and destroy the anti-matter impostor.

"Why? He mistreated you?" Superman asks idly. "Is that it?"

"He neglected to acknowledge my obvious superiority, Kal-el. It is a mistake few have successfully endeavored."

"Fair enough," Superman says with a sigh.

"It is a goal no less noble than yours. Based on our past encounters, and your natural predilection to help your friends, I gather that you wish to **save** Batman from the Syndicate. We wish to find the anti-matter Luthor and deal with his treachery accordingly. Our goals **intersect**, Kal-el."

Silence. Brainiac waits precisely thirty seconds. "I believe my proposal is implicit."

Superman's shoulders slump in defeat. "Yes," he whispers.

"You cannot save Batman by yourself; you haven't the ability to breach the gulf."

Superman grimaces. It's a deal with a devil.

To save Bruce…

"You must choose," Brainiac prods. His microprocessors calculate a growing sentiment in the Kryptonian; what a human would call finality. Desperation.

"All right," Superman says with cosmetic difficulty. "You're sure you can do this?"

"Yes," Brainiac replies without hesitation. "However, you must do something for me."

* * *

_The Anti-matter Universe. The Panopticon._

_Power Ring._

Owlman keeps a torture chamber somewhere on the lower levels of the Panopticon. He keeps it hidden, probably in a tesseract, to keep the rest of us from meddling in his pet projects. He tells us to stay out of there on a daily basis, as if stepping foot inside would kill us (though I'm sure he's not averse to that outcome) and for the most part we tend to agree with him. Except for Johnny. Stupid Johnny…thinks he can get in and out of any place without being noticed. Last time Owlman found him sneaking around, Johnny crawled away with a broken femur.

Mainly, I just try to keep out of Owlman's way when I can. One thing's for sure, though, about him. Above his secrets and torture, the man is dedicated. Sure, it's a borderline dedication between psychosis and a zest for his job. But its dedication just the same.

Yes, Owlman likes his secrets. Likes to think he's more powerful than the rest of us by using that big melon atop his head for something other than brute force. He underestimates the power of my ring. I could move mountains and shift orbits with this useful little contraption. He can't hide anything from me.

But in spite of that, Owlman's actually invited me down to his little Bedlam in the bowels of the Panopticon. I guess he needs a witness to watch him interrogate—torture, really—the shit out of the positive-matter Luthor.

Said Luthor is strapped to an operating chair with IV tubes running in and out of his arms, shackled at the wrists and ankles to prevent substantial movement. It's an impressive setup, for its brutality.

A few meters away from the chair, Owlman hunches over a microscope.

"Fascinating," I hear him say. I start walking toward him, slowly at first; no need to surprise.

"What is?" I hear myself say. Dammit. Think next time.

"This blood sample," Owlman says, not looking up from the microscope. "Remarkable levels of leukocytes. White blood cells. Our friend here must have quite the immune system."

"Since when are you a doctor?" I ask, half-joking.

"Oh I'm not," Owlman says idly. He stands from the microscope, rubs his hands together and pulls a stool to the operating chair. "But in between sessions, I figured that if he's giving me such generous donations of blood I may as well do something with them."

"Admirable." I fold my arms over my chest and shift my weight nervously. I'm almost afraid to ask why he summoned me down here. "So what do you intend to do with our esteemed Mr. Luthor?"

"Process whatever valuable information he has, add it to the databanks, and then kill him."

"How very arcane."

Owlman ignores it. "Hand me that scalpel. The tray next to you."

And sure enough it is. A silver tray bolted to the side of the operating table. I wrap my hand around the scalpel handle and extend it over to Owlman.

"Thank you," he says, and takes the scalpel. That's…unexpected.

Owlman tightens his grip on the blade handle and lowers it to Luthor's neck.

"Coming to are we, Mister Luthor?"

The bald man's eyes flutter open and he instantly realizes the sharp end of the blade pressing against his throat. He calms down and inhales deeply. If I didn't know, I'd almost say he's been through this type of thing before.

"What is this?" Luthor grumbles.

"An exercise in humility," Owlman sneers. "You have much to answer for."

"I don't know anything," Luthor says through clenched teeth.

"Sure you do," Owlman says with a toothy grin. "So consider this exercise a chance for me to hone my surgical skills." Owlman eyes the scalpel thoughtfully. "And tell me why you're here. Come to recruit us to help you defeat the League?"

Owlman clutches the scalpel between his thumb and forefinger and dangles it above Luthor's eye.

"I'll warn you," Owlman says forebodingly. "I have been known for momentary lapses in voluntary muscle control."

"Wait," Luthor snaps. "What you need…I can get it to you. Money, wealth."

"I sincerely doubt that," Owlman says with a sigh. He's treating this like some game. "And since you're new here, I'll tell you that I already have those things. So your bargains are useless."

"Let me help you," Luthor continues, unimpeded. "Before, all that stood in your way was another version of me—a noble one. Let me kill him, and then you can breach the gulf into my universe and deal with the League. You can rule two Earths at once."

"Sorry," Owlman says distantly. He lowers the scalpel to Luthor's wrist. "I'm quite happy to monitor this Earth."

* * *

_The Panopticon. The Observation Deck._

_Ultraman and Superwoman._

"Ah, look at that. We got a runner."

"What?" Ultraman glances over Superwoman's shoulder to the marbled green surface of the Earth below. "Where?"

Ultraman's fingers dance across a computer terminal at his side. A 3-D hologram lights up in front of him. A civilian huddled against the bulk of a police car, trying to hold his own against oncoming officers.

"A dissident," Ultraman says narrowly.

"Everyone's a critic," Superwoman jests. She runs her hand across Ultraman's shoulders and kisses him on the cheek. Ultraman ignores it, or seems to. "What do you want to do?"

Ultraman's eyes spark to life—a fiery red. An instant later, a bright beam of red issues from the Panopticon, heading to the Earth to strike its target. Superwoman stares crossly at the Earth, and then looks at the viewscreen. A pile of ashes, surrounded by a thin arc of burnt concrete, takes the place of the gun-toting civilian. Ultraman looks at the screen thoughtfully for a moment and turns to Superwoman.

"Obey or die, sweetie."

Superwoman leans in close, whispering in Ultraman's ear.

"Which category do I fall in?"

A beeping sound from somewhere behind Superwoman interrupts the short embrace. She turns around and slams her hand against the keyboard. A mugshot of Johnny Quick appears on the screen, with an annoyingly happy smile beneath his visor.

"What is it?" Superwoman asks pointedly.

"Hey, does Brainiac drive a Skull Ship…anymore?"

"No," Ultraman interrupts curtly. "Goodbye—"

"Because you want to know something?"

"What?"

"There's a Skull Ship coming around the far side of the Moon."

Ultraman's eyes narrow and he comes to a realization. "Shit."

* * *

_**Continued... **_


	6. Torture and Triumph

**Author's Note**: To clear things up on which Luthor is where: The Lex Luthor we know and love (well, you get my point ;)) is being toyed around and scalpel'd up by Owlman and Power Ring in the Panopticon. Alexander Luthor, the anti-matter counterpart, is in his Antarctic fortress with Batman.

This business with two Luthors running around is getting sort of confusing. I think I see why they got rid of the multiple earths. Enjoy.

* * *

_The Panopticon. The Observation Deck.  
_

_Superman._

Empty. As in no one here. And its strange. For the kind of game they run, there should be at least someone on duty. But there...isn't. Its strange, even for the Syndicate, to leave their base unattended. So I take my steps carefully, because this could all be one giant trap. Especially with Brainiac involved, staying safely away from the action aboard that Skull Ship of his.

Years ago, the League found ourselves transported to the anti-matter universe. We invariably came across the Panopticon—the base of operations for the Crime Syndicate of Amerika, a twisted aggregate of ourselves, who ruled their world with an iron fist. On that anti-matter world, with its sole superhero in the person of Lex Luthor, we were recruited to help Luthor rid himself of the Syndicate for good.

For one of a number of reasons, we failed; one reason being that we could never totally defeat them. Rules of matter and anti-matter engagement stated that people from one universe could not achieve total victory in another. The Syndicate could never beat us in our universe, and we couldn't get the upper hand in theirs.

But this changed when **Krona**, a renegade scientist from the Green Lantern home world of Oa, changed those rules. And when the Syndicate found their way to our universe once again some months back, they were able to beat us.

Things had changed.

It was up to us—up to the League to save the day once again. To stop them before they ruined everything we valued.

And it's up to me now. They've kidnapped Bruce, done God-knows-what to him. I only hope I'm not too late. I only hope I haven't made a deal with the devil.

Brainiac. He aligned himself with Luthor, and Zatanna ended up dead because of it. The Syndicate kidnaps Bruce **and** Luthor, and pulls me away from my responsibilities on Earth. And Diana. I can't stop replaying the situation in my head. What I could have done differently. If I'd gotten there faster—not wasted time taking care of Max Lord on the Watchtower…maybe she wouldn't be a wanted criminal.

Everyone has so much to answer for…

* * *

_Owlman's Torture Chamber._

_Power Ring._

The more I think about this, the more I'm disgusted. Owlman's just toying with him, for God's sake. Dangling that scalpel above his eyes and shooting him up with those injections—the ones that enhance pain. This positive-matter Luthor is another damned lab rat to him. It's disgusting. Plain and friggin' simple. I start pacing to work of some of the steam, and curse under my breath. Stupid Owlman. Bitter self-righteous piece of…Yeah. But don't let **him** hear you say that.

In between pacing and cursing, I hear Owlman taunt Luthor some more.

"Tell me, Mister Luthor. Do you know what your heart rate is?"

It wouldn't be so bad if Luthor actually gave him some response. But he doesn't; he's too weak or he's out of material. So Owlman plays mind games with Luthor—like he would do to anyone else. Owlman rips open Luthor's oxford and uses a syringe needle to carve random lines in Luthor's chest. Despite Luthor's frail protestations and failing motor skills, Owlman looks bored as he's doing it.

"You know, I'm really just passing time here," Owlman says frankly. He dabs away some blood with the backside of his glove. "Waiting until the big blue buffoon tells me we're ready to go."

Finally, Luthor speaks up. "Where?"

"To hunt your counterpart, my good man," Owlman replies confidently. "We figure that we have **one** Luthor now. Two is…well, too many."

"Then," Luthor rasps weakly. "Why bother with me?" He's talking about the torture.

"Because I'm equal opportunity, Mr. Luthor." Owlman turns to me, scowling. "Get me a car battery and some jumper cables. I want to work on Mr. Luthor's definition of pain concerning some delicate nether-regions."

* * *

_Ultraman's quarters._

_Ultraman and Superwoman._

Darkness. It's a perfect atmosphere for us—for what we do and what we're going to do. Superwoman—Lois—lies next on her side next to me, one of her legs thrown lazily across my midsection. Her head is cradled in my arms and her breathing is slow and rhythmic. Relaxing, to a point. She tilts her head up to me and smiles.

"Y'know, I can't say I like the silk sheets so much."

"What? I stole these from a Zhutanian Monastery just for you, and now you don't want them?"

"Well don't act so downtrodden," she says. She sits up and gathers the sheets around her, turns around and shoots an amorous look at me. I raise my arms behind my head and clasp them together. "You forget how it was last time?"

"Oh yes," I say with a slight grin. I actually do remember. "Some like it rough. I thought that was just an expression."

Lois leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. "It's more than that." She slides down my chest and stares into my eyes. "It's a philosophy."

I crack a smile. Something's amiss here. "Why did you come here, Lois?"

"Because you didn't say no," she says softly and rubs her hands across my shoulders. "You never do. It's an incentive."

"Likewise. It could be worse though." My voice is somewhere between simple fact statement and thoughtfulness. "You could have asked Owlman…or Johnny."

"No," she says, sliding further down. "Too eager to please, those ones."

That gets a snicker.

I'm momentarily distracted from Lois by the room shuddering. It almost felt like…an impact tremor. The already-dim lights wink out completely. I shoot out of bed, throwing Lois to the floor, and three seconds later I'm in my suit. Lois, still on the floor, massages her back.

"What's wrong?"

"Something happened. An impact probably. I'll check it out."

On my way out the door, I hear Lois get to her feet and curse. Sorry, sweetie. This is a different kind of opportunity knocking.

It takes me another three seconds to get to the Main Deck. Johnny Quick is already there; one of his sleeves is rolled up, with the syringe still hanging from his elbow.

"What just happened?" he asks.

"If I'm right, an incursion."

Before he can respond, the floor underneath us explodes and sends us flying. At apogee I regain control and right myself. I watch Johnny fall to the deck, but he quickly gets up. I lower to the deck and I see them. Four people. One of them wears black and blue and carries a yellow ring on his hand. The other's a big shirtless guy with a green waistband and point ears. Another wears a dark blue-and-yellow mask with ammo strapped across both shoulders and angles a shotgun at us. And the last one is dressed in deep blue, with a big lightning bolt symbol across his chest. Impressive bunch of losers.

"Well, well," I say confidently. "Look at this. Halloween comes early." Johnny snickers. The one with the lightning bolt chest speaks up first.

"You have something we want."

"Oh I can't imagine what that is."

He launches himself at me. I manage a sigh before he starts throwing punches.

* * *

_The Antarctic. Alexander Luthor's Fortress._

"Here." I hold out a gauntlet-covered hand. Batman, for all his intelligence, just stares at me with a lab technician's scrutiny and a referee's indifference. I roll my eyes wearily. "What is it now?"

"Why would you give me this?"

This is getting monotonous. And yet it's a stark reminder of Mr. Wayne's mask. Or masks, rather. It reminds me of a man and a woman--a mother and a father—and the boy they left behind.

Thomas Wayne was married to Martha Wayne, a stunning wall of a woman who wasn't afraid to get in faces and press buttons—the kind of independent will only seen or heard in media. When she and Wayne's other son Bruce were gunned down in the streets, Thomas junior could only look into his father's eyes with a quivering, weepy longing. What kind of world would allow an injustice such as this to occur? What kind of monster would stand by and do nothing? In his fathers' emotionless eyes, young Thomas saw something tangible…something achievable.

Control. He could force things into being the way he wished them to be. It was a powerful aspiration. Young Thomas yelled at his father, and knowing he'd crossed an unyielding barrier, left home. And over the course of twelve years, he became something…more than just a man.

Young Thomas became **Owlman**, a response to his father's sins. He wanted to punish his father; his reasons were his own.

In this universe, Thomas Wayne Jr. is the analog of Bruce Wayne—a Bruce Wayne that wasn't murdered in the streets by a thug with a gun.

I often wonder how different the world may be today. Had Bruce and Martha Wayne not been killed. And then I remember the state of the world and recriminate myself for foolish idealism. The world is, sadly, what it is. And it's up to me to change it—to make life better, to create a world without an Ultraman or an Owlman. Because no one else will.

Because the Syndicate had **long** ago given up hope.

My mind shifts back to Batman, weakened and prone at my feet. I realize my arm is still extended to him. The chunk of gilded rock in the palm gets heavier.

"I would give this to you, because you of all people can put it to good use. I suspect from your vantage point, you can't see what it is?"

He shakes his head slowly. I lower my hand to allow a more honest view.

"It's Kryptonite," I say. Try your best to keep the efficacy away Lex. "A gold derivative thereof. My sources tell me it's potent enough to permanently strip a Kryptonian of his super-powers. It took me seven years to find the necessary components, and another eighteen months to refine it enough for trial use."

"Why give it to me?" Batman reiterates.

"I'm offering it to you with no strings. Even if you decide not to use it immediately upon your return, you should still have it." I wait for a second or three, seeing if he'll respond. When he doesn't I continue. "It's the perfect gift for the man who has everything."

"I don't have the luxury to own everything, Alexander." Behind his cowl, Batman's eyes narrow.

"True enough," I offer lightly, and start pacing. As I continue speaking, I find my voice becoming more…mesmerizing. I can almost feel it working on Wayne's mind. "But while you are still able, Mister Wayne, you should give your world something to remember you by. And when you defeat your Kryptonian man-god in a contest of equals, standing victorious over another useless metahuman, they will build statues of **you**. You'll be part of what we talked about before. That oh so delicious something special."

Batman's shoulders slump forward a bit and my ears process an inhalation—slow and deep. It appears he's genuinely processing the idea. I stoop forward and set the kryptonite chunk on the ground in front of Batman. As I right myself, I pat him on the shoulder.

"Think about it. We have all the time in the world."

* * *

_**Continued...**_  



	7. Detonation

**Author's Note: **Yeah, I keep making these crazy things and advance-warning you of long chapters. And this is no different. So get comfortable and enjoy. And wait for Alexander Luthor's uppance to come.

* * *

_The Antarctic. Alexander Luthor's Fortress._

My earpiece buzzes with the activity on the other end. The transmitter on the Panopticon worked perfectly. I tap a finger to my ear and approach Batman's cell. Owlman's voice crackles across the line.

"_I'm moving Luthor to your Fortress, Ultraman. He'll be…safer there."_

"_Fine."_

And herein is one among many failings of the Syndicate. Too occupied are they with their own problems that they neglect to check in on me. It's a mentality they're too aware of but choose to sit on—for whatever reasons. A vocal grant of clemency only goes so far before attitudes start to change. I'm certainly not about to wait for Ultraman to entertain happy thoughts, and so I must change first. To gain the upper hand, to establish supremacy. And while I'm still able, to give the man something to cry about.

"They're moving him," I speak quickly. Audio processors outside the cell will carry the sound inside and allow Batman to hear me. It's a system designed to allow confidentiality--even in front of the inmate in question. "We must accelerate our plans."

Inside the cell, behind the shields comprised of pirated energy signatures from the Volthoom entity, Batman is hunched over a lab table. He peers down through a microscope. With a soldering iron in hand, he painstakingly tinkers with a green and silver colored disk on the table below. I remove one of my gauntlets and press my hand to the control pad outside the cell. The display switches from red to green and the shields lower. I step behind Batman and look over his shoulder cautiously. The move gives a chance to see the scars-of-battle cosmetics he's applied to make it look like the Syndicate got their hands on him. His costume is ripped in several places, revealing the Kevlar-weave armor beneath the suit itself, and the cape is essentially a rag. Bruises and cuts surround the exposed parts of his face, and dried blood flakes from a wide slice on his cheek.

"That's impressive cosmetic work."

"It's not cosmetics," he says curtly. I scoff at the mention; interesting that he would willingly injure himself in order to further a carefully-finessed lie. Truly, it is dedication to a goal.

"What are you doing?" I ask offhandedly.

"Working on a back-up. If this plan of yours fails, I'll still be able to get Luthor back."

Alexander recoils a bit and raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know you cared."

Batman finishes his work on the microscope, slips the soldering iron into a pocket on his belt and turns to Luthor. "I don't. But I'm not going to leave him here."

My eyes narrow and I cross my arms.

"I respect that," I say with a creeping smile. I extend an open hand to Batman, suggesting a handshake. "Come, there's little time."

* * *

_The Flying Fortress. Owlman._

"God below, would you pick up the damn pace, Stewart?"

"I'm moving as fast as I can, Owlman," Power Ring says irritably. As soon as the words escape his mouth, I suspect it's time for another ass-kicking. He and Johnny have had quite the chip on their shoulder lately, and it's about time to fix it. "You have any bright ideas I'd like to hear 'em."

Power Ring has an unconscious Luthor over his shoulder in a lazy fireman's carry. I suspect he doesn't really care if the bald man falls from his hold, and I can't disagree. Luthor is valuable, but as not much more than a time-waster; he gives me something to do in between sessions with Lois. And after the failed car battery operation, I'm ready for a change of pace.

Problem is, I don't get one.

I lead the way up to the Main Deck, up a flight of stairs from the lower levels. And as soon as I see the deck, I see **them**. Ultraman, engaged in some kind of stupid feline stare-down with four other people. Sinestro's there, unsurprisingly. And one of them looks suspiciously like that Captain Marvel character, or whatever he called himself, that we killed last week—only this one's dressed in black. And the other two—the giant shirtless one wearing green and the one with a shotgun aimed at Ultraman's self-righteous forehead—well, they're a mystery. Lucky for me that they seem focused on Ultraman. Too focused.

"What is this?" I ask. It's a stupid question, as I'm making my presence known. But honestly, Ultraman could take three of them. Leave me the one with the shotgun. Ultraman and the goon squad turn to me and stare dumfounded for three seconds. I hold up my arms innocently. "Well?"

It's the distraction Ultraman needs to launch himself at the shirtless pointy-eared one. Sinestro facilitates that, and the black Captain Marvel heads for Power Ring. I sidestep the event. Power Ring slides Luthor off his shoulder and rolls with the Black Marvel's tackle. I watch them fly over the deck railing, trading blows as they go. And I hear that shotgun cock itself at the base of my skull. I arch my head back and roll my eyes.

"You don't want to shoot me."

"A bullet begs use, Owlman. Specifically on you."

"So you know me," I say expectantly. "What do the men in white coats call **you** then?"

"Deathstroke," he says flatly. I manage a scoff. You just can't make this stuff up.

"Then, Deathstroke," I say with my most patronizing tone. "Care to press your luck?"

* * *

_Ultraman and Amazo._

The android had taken to calling himself Amazo, whatever the hell that meant. And it was interesting fighting him—because the fight lasted precisely 74 seconds, partly because he had my kind of strength. It consisted of he and I trading blows and we tumbled from the Panopticon's shielded main deck to the surface of the Moon. With a calculated punch, he knocked me through the shields and into space. I tumbled awkwardly for a time but righted myself and spotted the android. Waiting a few meters ahead of me. This damnable Amazo hovering motionless, staring at me with some antichristing smirk.

"Come on! Fight me!"

And he launched himself at me, a fist extended before me. It's a stroke of luck that I remembered to use my x-ray vision. It's also a stroke of luck that I found hew wasn't human—this one was a machine. So I decided to make my own sunny day and his too. Kick on the heat vision and fry him up good.

It was too easy. The kind of easy that smacks of distraction. I regard my handiwork for a moment and turn back to the Fortress.

* * *

_Alexander Luthor._

Batman trails me, still tinkering with the disc in his hands, as we make our way to my ship. In my earpiece, Brainiac speaks to me. I suspect his offer to help Superman reverse over went as planned. This is good news, of course. It gives the Syndicate a distraction battling Superman and whoever he brought with him, and it gives me time to further my own ends. A good day, all in all.

"Brainiac?"

"Alexander. I calculated you would break radio silence."

"Yes, fine," I say dismissively. "Are the charges planted?"

"Affirmative. Detonation in 7 minutes. Do not waste time in ferrying the passengers back to my ship."

"You know, Brainiac, you could try being **nice **for once. If it's even in your programming."

* * *

_Owlman and Deathstroke._

After back flipping over Deathstroke's head, I quickly disarm him by jamming a knee in his groin, and a right hook across his face. The shotgun falls out of his grip and into mine. While he falls to the floor, I regard the gun for a moment, and toss it over the railing nearby. With any luck, some lucky vagrant will pick it up and get the hint.

I rush this Deathstroke character, jamming a Razorang-forked fist into his leg; keep him from moving and I can win much easier. Despite not needing the advantage, the damage to his knee allows me a few seconds to think ahead. He grimaces briefly as air rushes from his lungs, but still manages a roundhouse kick with his free leg. It catches me in the ribs. I stumble back a bit, catch myself, and try to ignore the pain. I pull more razorangs from my belt and lunge at Deathstroke.

He manages to roll out of the way, tripping me. I fall to the floor with a thud, my vision going fuzzy for a moment. When it clears again, Deathstroke is laying over top of me lazily, angling a bowie knife against my neck.

"Good," I rasp. "You're about as good as Bruce, when he decided to fight me."

Deathstroke grabs me by the cape-lengths around my collar and brings me close to his face. "I'm **better** than Bruce Wayne," Deathstroke replies grimly. Seems someone takes offense to a Batman comparison. I glance over his shoulder, and see a spot on the horizon. I snicker curtly.

* * *

_Superman. Ultraman's Flying Fortress; the lower Observation Deck._

Ahead of me, Deathstroke straddles Owlman—surprisingly gaining the upperhand. But Owlman doesn't look terribly interested in fighting Slade anyway. Even through Deathstroke's pummeling, Owlman's staring past him….at me.

Someone went to a lot of trouble to orchestrate this. Someone who **wanted** me to come into this universe—to draw me away from home, where I belong. The question is why? What would they stand to gain?

I land just beyond the railing, stopping for a moment to regard Owlman and Deathstroke.

"You can go, Superman," Deathstroke says as he pummels Owlman. "This one is mine." I look away and shake my head incredulously. It's still a wonder to me how Deathstroke lives for what he does. In some strange way though—

Wait…a Heartbeat. Faint.

There. The far side of the deck. I lift off the ground and head for the source of the heartbeat: a huddled body near the railing. Only on closer inspection—not thinking to use my microscopic vision—do I see who it really is.

Lex. What's he doing here?

Before I can answer, a body obstructs the way to Lex. It's him, floating down from the open space in the fortress above. Ultraman. The mirror version of myself, but more…sadistic. He's sloppy—careless. It's a loophole.

* * *

_Ultraman._

"Alright," Superman says, gritting his teeth. His hands form into fists. "Where is he?"

Ultraman smiles and cocks his head at me. "My dear country cousin, whoever do you mean? Surely you only came for Luthor?"

"You know why I'm here," the Man of Steel says. He's definitely getting impatient. "Give me Batman and I'll allow you to carry on your business."

"Allow? You're not in a position to **allow** me anything." I keep the smile, but try lowering it into a grimace. The ever-reliable menacing look. "You can have your friend when you pry him away from my cold, dead hands."

Superman's eyes spark to life, the excess heat curling away in black smoky wisps. "I'll burn this station to ashes before I let you have him."

"Let's see," I challenge with an amused grin. In an instant, I launch myself at Superman and land five successive hits across the Man of Steel's face. The oversized light sphere above us shatters with the final blow. Amid raining shard of glass and sparks, the Man of Steel and I trade blows—echoing thunder exploding outward from us.

I knock Superman away from me, but instead of coming back with another hit, he flies away. A hundred meters away, I see him turn around and rocket straight for me. I barely have time to raise an arm before he slams a fist into my chest at untold miles per hour. The ensuing sonic boom shakes the entire Fortress and I ponder it falling out of orbit before Superman slams into me again. This time the hypersonic receiver in my chest plate, under the U diamond, shatters and I tumble away. The world goes silly for a moment before Superman grabs me by the cape bunched around my collar and unleashes the heat vision. His eyes burn a fiery red as the beams come for me and his jaw locks open, as if screaming.

My own heat vision fires to life, and it seems we've caught ourselves in a good old-fashioned stalemate. Neither one of us can win, but neither of us wants to give up.

Until my peripheral vision picks up a flash beyond the Fortress. Instinctively, the heat vision kicks off. Superman follows suit, and I lift upward in the sky, to an altitude where I can see the moon more clearly.

"What just happened?" I say to myself.

And almost in response, a black spot makes itself known on the surface of the Moon. Exactly where the Panopticon should be. Where Lois should be…

I cast Superman a doubtful look, and lift into the sky.

* * *

_Superman._

I watch Ultraman go, and head back to the Fortress' broken observation deck. The surface is cracked from the effects of the sonic boom, and some parts dangle from their anchors, fluttering in the wind and waiting to fall to Earth. Somewhere to my right Deathstroke and Owlman are both unconscious, huddled on the floor.

I kneel beside Lex and turn him over slowly to face me. I pat his cheek softly, trying to bring him around. I know I've made contact when his eyes flutter open and dart around.

"Lex, are you all right? What happened?"

"Owlman," he murmurs weakly. His voice is hollow, barely understandable.

"Where is he, Lex? Where's Batman?"

"Batman? No…there is no Batman here. They only brought **me** here…"

They? I lay my hands on his shoulder and stare him square in the eyes. Lex glances at me, his eyelids flutter for a moment, and then his head sinks back against the floor. "What happened, Lex?"

"Everything looks…different…"

"Lex, I need your help. They've got Batman somewhere and I have to find him. What do you know?"

"I…I don't…know..."

This is useless. I kneel and bring one of Lex's arms around my shoulder, lifting him off the floor and over my shoulder in a fireman's carry.

And I try to find my way out of this place. Because **he** didn't trust his team-mates.

I hear a buzzing in my ear—the communicator. It'll be Brainiac.

"Superman."

I tap my ear and try to network focus between what Brainiac has to say and Lex's condition.

"What is it?"

"We are engaging the Syndicate on the surface. I felt you wished to be kept apprised."

"Yes, fine. How are you holding up?"

"Moderately so. Black Adam has engaged Power Ring and Sinestro is keeping Johnny Quick occupied."

"Then we only need to worry about Superwoman."

"And where is she?"

"My scanners indicated a single life sign on the Panopticon," Brainiac says flatly. Some part of me still expects him to show a little emotion—for what that's worth. "It is possible she teleported there shortly before detonation."

"Detonation?" I ask. "By who?"

"Unknown," Brainiac replies. "I will investigate."

"Fine. Is your Skull Ship in the atmosphere?"

"Over Centropolis."

"All right. I'm bringing Lex to you, and then I'm going to find out who destroyed the Panopticon."

* * *

**_Continued... _**


	8. Against a World of Evil

**Author's Note:** The idea of a Boom Tube being used as a device for teleportation between dimensions comes from recent issues of _Superman/Batman_, where the heroes use a Boom Tube, altered by Darkseid and company, to battle the Maximums--a team of renegade heroes. Enjoy.

* * *

_The Flying Fortress' control deck._

_Batman and Alexander Luthor._

I step over the mangled and charred remains of a blast-door, with Batman behind me, and make my way to the computer console on the far side of the room. My fingers dance across the keyboard, putting to good use years of practice. As it were. Behind me, Batman speaks up.

"How did you know to get past the defenses?" he asks. I sneer unseen to him; even after all we've done he still underestimates me. I finish entering coordinates in the computer, and turn around to see him. He's holding the disc in one hand, and staring at the mangled door thoughtfully. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looks like he's just seen his beloved puppy put out of its misery.

"Defenses," I sneer. "Those were cheap decorations for some folk festival. Give me the disc."

Batman turns away from the door and extends a hand to me. A silver-colored floppy disc sits motionless in the palm, reflecting the overhead lights.

"You're sure we won't be caught," Batman says. It's not a question. "The station can only be so big."

I slide the disc into the drive above the keyboard. The screen winks to life and a status bar creeps from the left side of the screen to the right. Twenty percent and counting. "Big enough that we can get in unnoticed, though," I reply. "The Syndicate's too occupied with their own problems to man the ramparts, Batman."

"Such as?" I hear footsteps echo on the metal flooring plates behind me. I crook my head to the side slightly, and see a vertical shadow standing next to me. The hints that there's a man inside the shadow—an upturned chin and stark white slits where the eyes would be—stares at the screen. I regard him for a moment, and press a button.

"Such as this."

The status bar minimizes, and a video-window replaces it. Johnny Quick is trying and failing to run circles around Sinestro, and Power Ring is trading blows with Black Adam. For all the apparent violence and blood spewing from Power Ring's mouth, it still looks incredibly…staged.

Like the villains are simply keeping them occupied. The way it should be.

The minimized window starts blinking an intermittent color of yellow, and I maximize it.

"Ah," I say with a self-satisfied smile. "Upload complete. Are we ready to begin?"

"Just so we're clear," Batman interjects in a heavy voice. More dark emotion. I start tapping my fingers impatiently on the table. _God Save the King_ seems a good rhythm; my free hand hovers over the mouse, ready to click on the **execute **button at any moment. Batman continues: "No one dies. Not if I can help it."

"Yes, yes," I say quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "No one dies, fine. Let's get this cosmic treadmill going." I click the **execute** button and a countdown window pops up. "There, we have five minutes before the program you wrote over-rides the computer and sends this station crashing to the ground."

Five minutes. An eternity...to see a life's work realized.

* * *

_The surface of the Earth. Power Ring and Black Adam._

In between shielding himself from Power Ring's green-energy constructs, Black Adam still manages to access his earpiece communicator. Before he can start talking, though, Power Ring creates a green shovel in the air and thrusts it into the ground, hoisting the ruler of Khandaq in the air amid a pile of dirt. The brief respite gives Adam time to talk in his ear.

"What is it?" he asks grimly.

"Black Adam," the voice on the other end says smugly. "The time has come. Are you ready for transportation?"

"Yes. Johnny Quick has little time before his speed serum expires. We should exterminate him."

"No," the voice enunciates. "We're only interested in one distraction. A boom tube will be opening in your proximity in a few moments. When it does, drop what you're doing and leave, else you'll be stuck in this universe. And I'm sure you don't want to be."

Black Adam lifts into the air, out of Power Ring's emerald shovel, makes a jagged line in the sky and shoots back to Earth. Power Ring sights Adam approaching but doesn't have time to react before the ruler of Khandaq slams into him and breaks his arm. Power Ring falls to his knees groaning in writhing in pain, but his ring still works. He tells himself it does. Black Adam lands and kicks Power Ring to the ground. When Power Ring tries to encapsulate Adam in an energy-bubble, Adam steps on the ring-bearing hand and applies pressure. The ruler of Khandaq hears the bones snap and crackle under the weight of his foot…and smiles.

"Agreed," Adam says, tapping his ear once more. "Where will we be transported to?"

"Society headquarters back in Gotham City, as per our agreement. And if I'm not mistaken you have a trinket of your own?"

"The ring of the first Green Lantern. Rest assured I intend to put it to good use, Alexander. Sooner or later."

* * *

_The Panopticon. Ultraman and Superman._

"Lois?"

Through the darkness and the intermittent shower of sparks, Ultraman steps lightly. He may have super-strength and x-ray vision, but he doesn't use them. Some part of him suspects this is the end; that he fears the worst. A terrible sense of finality creeps into his mind.

Somewhere over his head—above in the wrecked ceiling structures—broken and mangled steel support beams dangle precariously while others lay motionless on the floor. Stressed metal yawns and creaks, echoing through the main chambers. Smoke hangs motionless in the air—an acrid tang that almost chokes Ultraman. He fires his heat vision for a few seconds to dissipate some, and keeps walking. Up ahead, Ultraman sees it.

The conference table—the big one with the letters CSA emblazoned across the top—is fragmented and sunken in the middle, as if from a severe impact. Shards of the table and chairs lay on the floor, shattered beyond repair, as are the larger exhibits of the Syndicate's conquest. The head of the Statue of Liberty is a pile of green-colored shards in a heap across the room, and the statue of David is separated from the waist up—the torso strewn across the floor, and the legs are lifeless hunks of concrete on the floor.

Only on closer inspection does Ultraman see the figure in the sunken part of the conference table.

Superwoman. Lois. Lying in a pool of blood amid the shards of the table. A huge gash is sliced across her forehead. Ultraman vaults over an upturned chair and falls to his knees by Lois' side, saying her name repeatedly. His ears catch a heartbeat; faint, but a heartbeat just the same. He smiles minimally at the good news. When he tries to lift her up, she grunts in pain, so he sets her back down. Ultraman brings his hands up to regard, and sees them covered with her blood. He feels haphazardly around her back, and comes across a rough spot at the shoulder blade where she'd taken a piece of shrapnel.

He leans close. Lois' eyes open and her lips start moving silently. Ultraman can't understand what she's mouthing until he leans his ear close to her lips.

"Luthor…"

Then Ultraman's head shoots away from Lois, rearing in the air like a pup at attention. He scowls and squints—out of suspicion more than anything—into the darkness. And he hears another heartbeat. But...different. With his x-ray vision, Ultraman observes the heart on the left side of the body, and the distinctive S-diamond shield across the chest.

"Superman," he said spitefully. "Show yourself, you arrogant alien bastard."

Slowly, the Man of Steel steps out of the shadows. He doesn't speak, but waits for Ultraman to start.

"You did this," Ultraman says through gritted teeth. "Why?"

"I didn't do anything," Superman replies frankly. "I'm here to help."

"You can kiss my ass," Ultraman persists angrily. "What are you up to? Tell me!"

"Nothing," Superman says. "But I know that if we don't help her, she'll die. That shrapnel wound in her back? It was caused by a blade of magical origin, which Alexander Luthor brought here from my universe. It's designed to specifically hurt beings vulnerable to magic, and I suspect Superwoman is one of them."

Ultraman frowns, and raises an eyebrow in confusion. "You…want to help me?"

"I want to save a life. And for me to do that, you have to step back."

* * *

_Brainiac's Skull Ship. Alexander Luthor and Batman._

"Are they away?"

Alexander Luthor is, by most accounts, a patient man. When it suits him. He's a man built and governed by utility—he sees the world in stark terms of usefulness, or the lack thereof.

Batman is essential to Alexander's plans. Working with a mind as cunning as his own, Luthor thought he might finally affect the means to despatch the Crime Syndicate once and for all. The first initiative has already been met: destroy their base of operations, all the while keeping their members distracted from action.

The second initiative is extermination. In the back of his mind, Alexander Luthor can't stop congratulating himself. The Panopticon's destruction means Superwoman's incapacitation. With her gone, Ultraman will also be out of commission. Owlman fought Deathstroke to a standstill and both were later rendered unconscious by a sonic boom that severely weakened the Flying Fortress.

Yes, the Syndicate's destruction is at hand, Alexander Luthor thinks contently. A life's realization…come true.

Luthor is hunched over a computer console in Ultraman's quarters. Across the room, the bed is unkempt; sheets are spread everywhere and a golden lasso lies at the foot of the mattress. Luthor eyes it thoughtfully, and turns back to the screen. His fingers dance across the keyboard. A small pop-up window in the foreground counts down from two minutes and thirty seconds.

Luthor taps his ear and a moment later, Brainiac's tinny voice travels across the line. "Yes, Alexander. Black Adam and Sinestro have successfully returned to the positive-matter world."

"And Deathstroke?" Luthor asks, genuinely concerned.

"A drone has retrieved him. He is aboard my ship."

Alexander Luthor smiles. "You know, you're a wonderful human being."

"Humor is an emotion lost on me, Alexander. Are you prepared to leave?"

"One more housekeeping chore," Alexander replies. "Your teleporters are in working order. I need you to find my positive-matter counterpart and take him aboard you ship."

A pause. Alexander eyeballs Batman thoughtfully for a moment. Luthor's earpiece buzzes and Brainiac comes back online. "Done. He will be kept out of sight of the Kryptonian. What of you and Batman?"

Luthor stand from the computer console and turns around to face Batman. The Dark Knight stands a meter away form Luthor, his arms crossed confidently across his chest. It's an act, Luthor realizes, and one that has had time and practice to be perfected. But it is, in a glaring way, transparent.

Batman is still human. Human mannered, human compassionate. Admirable.

"A fair question, Brainiac."

"Brainiac?" Batman retorts. "You aligned yourself with Brainiac?"

Luthor taps his ear again and speaks frankly—calmly: "I'm afraid only one of us will be making the voyage home, Brainiac."

Luthor slides his free hand behind his back and returns with a small metal pillbox. Only…this has sleek sides and series of diagonal lines and circles across the face. When Luthor pressed one of the small silver circles, the box gave a small _ping-ping-ping_ sound.

A Mother Box, Batman remarks to himself.

"You found Apokolips." Batman asks flatly, unimpressed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Luthor turns to the Dark Knight and smiles demurely.

"Some of us don't **fear** the unknown, Mister Wayne." Luthor begins pacing, holding the Mother Box stationary in his hand as he goes. "I came across a universe some months ago that particularly intrigued me. I called it the Fourth World—as befit the order in which I discovered it—and made my own modifications to Mother Box, effectively rendering it easy to use for travel between worlds, if you will."

Batman stares past Luthor, and sees the countdown nearing two minutes. He glances back at Luthor, and Luthor stares into Batman's featureless cowl.

"You've been of great assistance to me, Mister Wayne. With your help—the disc in the computer upstairs which will destabilize the system and send this fortress to the ground in flames—I'm a step or two closer to the destruction of the Syndicate."

* * *

_Superman_. 

"Brainiac. I'm all set here."

"What of Superwoman?"

"Ultraman's treating her. She should be fine, given proper handling of her injuries."

"Understood. And Batman?"

Batman. The Mna of Steel ahd never found him. Could the Syndicate have done the unthinkable? Possibly. Superman didn't want to give up hope.

He would return. Someday. Somehow.

"Superman? Are you ready for transport?"

"Yes," the Man of Steel replies after a pause. "I believe so.."

* * *

_Alexander Luthor and Batman aboard the Flying Fortress._

"You'd kill them just to achieve a goal."

"We've been over this before!" Luthor snaps, throwing the Mother Box to the ground. He scowls, and calms himself and points a finger at Batman. "You knew what you were getting into. You must have known it would take lives."

Batman grimaces and bows his head. Privately he chides himself for not seeing it sooner. "I didn't think you had it in you. Maybe the universes...**aren't** so different. You kidnapped my universe's Luthor and gave him over to the Syndicate for torture. You deserve everything he's getting."

Luthor's brow furls and he purses his lips in silent protest—as if he's about to say something but lacks the words. His mouth closes slowly and he stares at the floor dismally for a moment. Luthor starts pacing and rears his head up after a few steps to regard the ceiling.

"If I press this button," Luthor says quietly. "An energy signature will appear around you and teleport you aboard Brainiac's ship. Another button will teleport you back to your universe entirely. Back to your Watchtower, exactly as you left it." Luthor turns to face Batman. "With every memory of what went on here.

"What you were about to do would save lives, Mister Wayne. Killing the Syndicate is the only way to ensure their kind never rises again."

"No," Batman replies. "It's not."

Luthor leans over the console, focusing his weight on his fists on the tabletop. "It wasn't a fair comparison…me and your Luthor." His voice is a creak—quiet, nearly inaudible. "He seeks to destroy life. And I seek to make my world a better place. Killing the Syndicate was the first step in a right direction. Or so I thought."

Luthor turns around to face Batman. His face is drawn, an exhausted grimace across his lips. His eyes are a hint of red—signs of tears on their way. "Still unwilling to make compromises," Luthor says quietly. "It may get you killed one day."

Batman inhales deeply, holds it, and releases. Deep inside, the Dark Knight feels a creeping sensation. Remorse? Pity? Hard to tell.

"Here," Luthor says weakly. He extends one hand outward to Batman, offering the Mother Box. "Take it. Return to your home."

Batman doesn't move. For a moment, he almost looks offended by the offer of the Mother Box. "What about you?" he asks. Luthor looks away for a moment and runs a hand across his skull. After a deep sigh, he comes back to Batman.

"I told you once that I was alone against a world of evil. I believe you are as well. So take Mother Box and go home—to a world where promises **mean** something."

Luthor approaches Batman, grabs the Dark Knight's hand and plants the Mother Box in his palm.

"Go home and bring a little more light to your life…"

Luthor presses a button on the box's face. A flash of light temporarily blinds Luthor as the Boom Tube opens behind Batman. The Dark Knight turns into the light, and doesn't look back. Alexander Luthor turns back to the computer console, and sees the countdown has zeroed out across the board. And before the power shuts off and the station starts to fall from its atmospheric orbit, Alexander Luthor smiles.

Less than an eternity.

* * *

**_Continued... _**


	9. The Final Countdown

**Author's Note:** Here we go. The final installment in what is the last of my crazy _Infinite Crisis _stories (for the forseeable future). I'd hoped to intersect the last chapter with the release of _Infinite Crisis_ #1 last week, but I'll take my wins where I can. I hope you've all enjoyed this (confusing though it may have been). And, if I may be so bold as to plug my own work, check out "Divination" on the Batman section; and watch for a Christmas-themed oneshot cocnerning Kid Flash and maybe even Rose in the Teen Titans section in the months ahead.

Cheers.

* * *

_The Moon._

_The Justice League's Watchtower._

It is on days like this that J'onn J'onzz truly feels the weight of his many years. Watching his friends and comrades argue and bicker with one another while he sits quietly in his seat is…a trying experience. To say the least. And it is even more troubling to him that such instances were growing in number, something he'd become increasingly aware of in past months.

Ignoring the low-toned muttering from both Wally and Hal Jordan at the far side of the room, the Martian's eyes slide over to the doors of the conference room. The heavy grey panels separate abruptly from each other, parting before two familiar figures. Wonder Woman and Aquaman walking behind her.

"Diana," he says quietly, standing from his chair. From his periphery, J'onn noted that while Hal also stands, Wally only crosses his arms defiantly and remains seated. "This is…"

"Unexpected," Hal supplies awkwardly.

When Diana comes to a halt at the opposite end of the long table, her hands threaded tightly behind her, J'onn allows his gaze to flicker to Aquaman. Arthur looks exhausted, but manages a slight nod to J'onn. J'onn returned the acknowledgement as he sat back down.

"We've been looking for you, Diana." Wally's harsh voice cuts through the tension. "We sent out teams. Firestorm, Supergirl. We even tried to call Donna Troy," he remarks. "Why did you decide to come back now?"

J'onn turns to the younger man to his right. "Wally," he says, taking on a hint of warning. J'onn doesn't wait for a response, and turns back to the Amazon. "He means to say," the Martian continues more genially, "That we've spent much time looking for you."

"So you could judge me," Diana asked, her tone distinctly frigid.

"No," J'onn replied immediately, secretly hoping for reassurance.

"Yes," Wally jabs.

"Maybe," Hal Jordan says slowly, as if trying to get his bearings.

J'onn sighs quietly. So much for defusing the situation. He turns to his colleagues. Wally's expression is cold, even through the red coverings of his mask, but his eyes spark with indignation. Hal's face is inscrutable as he keeps his gaze on the Amazon. A soldier's discipline.

Aquaman breaks the silence. "Alright, listen," he says frankly. "Before this degenerates into mindless politics, let's get a sense of perspective." Everyone turns to him, even Diana. Her posture remains as rigid.

Aquaman continues in a calmer manner. "Diana, we want to help you. But you need to explain some things to us."

J'onn's gaze switches over to Diana, hardly daring to hope that this could end peaceably.

"Like what? My actions were justified," she said calmly. "What Light did was unforgivable."

Wally immediately leapt upon her words, as well as from his chair. "What you did was unforgivable," he nearly roared. "You killed him in cold blood, in front of God and everyone. What the hell were you **thinking**?"

J'onn reaches out at this point, trying to lay a hand on Wally's shoulder. "Wally, calm down. We're all upset about this."

"Like hell you are," he snaps, jerking away from J'onn. "If you were **really** upset about this, we'd be getting Diana's prints now. Hell, she'd already be locked up if you were upset about this!"

Hal speaks up at that point, his voice cool. "Assuming we **can** take her under U.S. law. Look, the fact of the matter is, Dr. Light is dead." His toned hardens. "Now, what can we do about it?"

"You could get over it," Diana responds, her blue eyes sparkle for a moment as they meet Hal's gaze. "Light was a monster, Hal. You were there, all those years ago." She stops then and turns away from them, moving towards the window. Even J'onn strains to hear her final statement.

"You saw what he did to Sue."

Hal sighs and slumps a bit, allowing some of his tiredness to become apparent. "I voted against the mind-wipe, Diana, and had I been there, I would have stopped you from killing him."

Officially, J'onn agreed with his words. The cardinal rule was that murder was never the answer. It is a conscious decision, a destructive act. And it made Diana no better than Light himself.

And yet, there is a voice within J'onn's mind. A nagging doubt at the back of J'onn's head. Would the battle ever end? Or…as went Mars, would Earth surely follow suit? Because of men like Luthor and women like Diana? The question is vague.

Diana shifts to face the group, though her eyes were focused completely on Hal. "You really believe that?" she whispered.

He stares back at her; his voice is steady: "I have to. It's why I do what I do."

Diana's body tenses at that point. Aquaman quickly recognizes it for what it was: an agitation. He and J'onn exchange glances, and Aquaman turns to face Diana and Hal.

"Look, we can dance around the issue all night," Aquaman says decisively, stepping carefully between the Amazon and Hal. He turns to Wonder Woman. "I brought you here, Diana, because I thought it would be in our collective best interest if these things were dealt with. Do you realize what you did?"

But Diana doesn't even look at him. She speaks only to Hal. "I saved the world from that monster. If you—or anyone else for that matter—cannot see that, then you truly are lost."

"You owe us an apology," Wally growled, speaking when Hal did not deign to respond. "You broke the law, crossing a line you know we can't. We're not judges, Diana. It's a matter of trust, and when you snapped Light's neck…you violated that trust." He shakes his head and speaks quietly—bitterly. "You ought to be ashamed."

Diana stares at Wally. Unexpectedly, she approaches Wally and stares into his eyes with a scientist's scrutiny.

The sound from the stinging slap across Wally's face resounds through the room; though neither he, nor Hal or Aquaman, move to restrain her. They only watch in a morbid fascination.

"You ought to be more careful next time, Wally," Diana says softly, her onyx hair falling down the sides of her face. "I doubt **Linda** would approve of this soapbox you're on." Then, suddenly, she turns to stare at them. When her eyes landed on J'onn, it was only through sheer willpower that the Martian did not flinch.

"And the rest of you… you're all so transparent," she hisses. "There's not a soul among us – the League, the JSA, the Titans – who knew of what Light did and given the opportunity, wouldn't have done what needed to be done. Not a soul."

Silence. J'onn could feel the heat radiating from Wally next to him, could literally hear his chaotic thoughts. Hal and Aquaman are silent, staring at the Amazon, stricken.

"Your silence speaks volumes," she says after a moment. Walking past them, Diana moved quickly for the doors and looking almost above the other Leaguers. Like they were beneath her notice. "I'm leaving. When you decide to legitimately discuss this—when you are ready to treat me as an equal—I **might** come back. Until then, stay away from me. Don't ask why, and don't try to contact me.

"This is it."

J'onn reclines in his chair, blocking out Hal and Aquaman's arguments while Wally heads for the teleporters. At the back of his mind, the nagging question grows. How had things fallen so far?

Everything the Justice League had struggled to build was collapsing from within.

_Keystone City._

_Wally West and Linda Park._

"Are you alright?" Linda's voice is a soft effete in my ears as I walk into the living room. I find the sofa and sink into it, lying lazily across the cushions, and press my fingertips to my temple.

"My head hurts," I groan.

"What happened?"

"Arthur found Diana. Brought her up the Watchtower. It was like a damn witch-hunt, Linda. We crucified her."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," she tries to reassure, tracing a circle around my chest.

A sigh. I close my eyes, and see it again. Diana slapping me. "She told me…she said I should be ashamed."

Linda leans close to me and whispers in my ear.

"You don't have anything to be ashamed of; you're a good man with an honest job…and a family that loves you very much. Not to mention moonlighting as the 'Fastest Man Alive.'"

My eyes open and I raise my head to see Linda looking right back at me. Her lips part and she smiles thinly. The smile I fell in love with.

_Themyscira._

_Talia Head. Daughter of the now-dead ecoterrorist Ra's al Ghul._

In a move that raised questions among those who knew her best, Talia Head pledged her services—including leadership of the HIVE and KOBRA international espionage agencies—to Lex Luthor's Society some months ago. In the intervening time she has carried out Luthor's whim to the word, occasionally meeting failure and occasionally meeting success.

Currently, she stands motionless on a hill at the far edge of Paradise Island—what its inhabitants would call Themyscira. The Daughter of the Demon, as she'd come to be known in her years of servitude to her father, feels a biting cold wind at her back, wrapping her loose-bound hair around the shape of her neck. She holds her arms close to her chest to channel natural body warmth. In one hand she holds a small communicator the size of a Personal Digital Assistant. The screen emits a deceptively warm glow and illuminates the red hue of Talia's jumpsuit above the waistline. The screen itself is a mugshot of Lex Luthor, the Society's apex leader. Immaculately dressed, as usual, Luthor speaks to Talia in a manner of complete calm. As if he is fully at rest.

But Talia knows better.

"And you're sure you can do something with it?" Luthor asks with a concerned look, a furrowed brow and sharply angled eyebrows.

"She is a **person**, Luthor. Not a thing. But yes…"

Talia's head angles away from the communicator in her hand, its green glow lighting her neck and jaw line as she gazes skyward. A headstone taller than herself stands starkly on the hill, covered in black, as if its purpose was to absorb light. On a simple granite faceplate across the midsection—just at Talia's line of sight—a simple epitaph reads 'Zatanna Zatara'.

"I believe I **can** do something here."

_The Batcave, underneath stately Wayne Manor._

_Superman and Batman._

The main screen on the computer glows a dim green, showing a video feed of a man sitting in his padded cell, bound in a straitjacket and huddled in the corner. The video feed is just good enough that the Man of Steel sees the man's lips moving—muttering something inane. Bruce Wayne sits reclined in his chair and stares thoughtfully at the screen—a real-time surveillance at Arkham Asylum.

"You can come out, Clark," Bruce Wayne enunciates to the darkness. "There's no use in hiding from me." Wayne sips from a teacup and feigns interest: "I take it you reversed over with no problems."

A moment later, the darkness replies pointedly. "You know why I'm here."

"Hmm. Kicked her out of the League, did you?" Wayne asks after a brief pause.

"She left. I had nothing to do with it." The Man of Steel's voice is innocent enough.

Silence.

"She came by here, didn't she?" Superman says pointedly. He lifts into the air and the red cape slacks and drapes over his shoulders. "She told you about it?"

"Don't act so surprised, Clark."

"But I am."

"That's fine," Wayne responds, waving a dismissive hand. "But tell me something—"

"Don't handle me, Bruce," the Man of Steel interjects with a sneer. "I went there to save you, but I had to deal with the Syndicate first. I figured you could take care of yourself."

"Answer me," Wayne says brusquely. "The League's in pieces, Luthor's still out there, and you're wasting your time here with **me**? The world needs you, Clark. You need to be better, so the world can have the Superman it deserves."

"It's never **good enough**, is it Bruce?" the Man of Steel snaps. "It always has to be **better**. No one can ever meet the expectations of the great and powerful Batman!"

Silence. Superman lifts off the ground and crosses his arms over the S-diamond on his chest. Waiting for a response. Batman's chair swivels around to face the Man of Steel. Bruce Wayne himself is firmly planted within the chair, shaded in darkness; the contrast of the glowing screen behind the chair makes Wayne look even darker.

He's slouched, one leg is crossed over the other, and he steeples his fingers, carefully shielding his face. Without the x-ray vision, the Man of Steel can only see sharply angled eyebrows and piercing blue eyes.

"Get out." The phrase is simple. Wayne doesn't put much effort into it, simply speaking as if it were fact.

"What?"

"Leave. Now."

Superman attempts a protest. "Bruce, I—"

"No," Wayne says pointedly, leaning forward in his chair. His face emerges from the darkness. The face of a man who has seen too much and remembered all of it. Every detail of every crime scene. Every dead body and every hapless child staring back at him with teary, empty eyes.

"You of all people should know the value of hard work. But then…you can move planets can't you, Clark? That's not even worth breaking a sweat. And really, why bother doing much of anything if it's so easy? You have so much power that you're afraid to **use** it. Why?"

"Bruce, that's not—"

"You all have too **much** power," Wayne continues, unfettered. "That's your problem.

"You were always **my** problem," Superman interjects.

Wayne's eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. "No. Clark, its past time you learn what it's like to be a man. Stop wallowing in self-loathing and start living up to your namesake. **Superman**. World's Greatest Hero. Start acting like it."

Wayne raises his head and speaks again: "So just leave, Clark. Go back home to Lois and pretend you're **worth** something. Because you're no good to me."

_Gotham City. Headquarters of the Society._

"Nice to have you back, Lex."

"Shut up, Noah," Luthor sneers. As he walks, he rolls the sleeves of his Oxford and shakes his head dismissively.

"You sound…"

"Sound what? Angry? Bitter?"

"Nothing," Kuttler replies hesitantly. His eyes dart around in their sockets as he follows Luthor down a flight of stairs. Luthor, it seems, is in one of those 'work work work' moods where he shuts himself off in his lab all day only to emerge and have the greatest idea this side of the pudding cup.

Even so, Kuttler follows Luthor and wrings his hands nervously. He feels around in the breast pocket of his shirt for a familiar pack of cigarettes. _You don't smoke anymore_, he tells himself. _Damn_.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and a heavy gray corrugated door on ceiling-mounted rollers ahead of them. Luthor approaches the door and presses his palm against a red-colored control pad. The visual scanners embedded behind the screen will read his fingerprints and grant access beyond the door.

When the color of the screen changes from red to green, Luthor lifts his hand and waits for the door to lift. Kuttler hears motors in the ceiling click and whir, and the door lurches upward from the floor slowly.

Kuttler stares into the darkness for only a moment, wondering if the lights will come on. And then he sees them. A group of bodies, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"**This** is our new approach."

Even through his glasses, Kuttler squints. And he realizes they aren't bodies, but a series of missiles jutting from the floor on angled launchers. Kuttler frowns and turns back to Luthor.

"I thought we were going to wait."

"No," Luthor says. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a remote control. "We're launching **now**."

"So…" Kuttler trails off, trying to get Luthor's explanation.

"Open the prisons, Noah. Give the inmates free reign."

"And…the OMACS?" Kuttler hesitates, sliding his hands into his pockets. Half of him almost wishes Luthor would say 'to hell with the OMACs let's do this ourselves.' But…Noah Kuttler knows better. Or so he tells himself.

"The DEO has back-up codes for activation. Get Director Bones on the line; I want those codes as soon as humanly possible."

"Yeah," Kuttler says sheepishly. "Okay, what then?"

"I'm tired of waiting," Luthor says lightly, as if shrugging the question off. "We will make the first move. And then we'll let the super-people deal with the rest."

* * *

_**The End **_


End file.
